


you break the spell around my heart

by thir13enth



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Genre: F/F, Fix-It of Sorts, some old tropes at play here for sure lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26566648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: it was only a kiss.
Relationships: Fjorm/Laegjarn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	you break the spell around my heart

**Author's Note:**

> i'm weak for fire and ice combos. me writing this was more or less fate.

Within the fire, Laegjarn’s eyes shine like rubies.

“Suppose we had chosen a different path back in Nifl…” she says, voice smoldered in the growing embers. Her tears evaporate in the rising heat, steaming over her face. She coughs then, ash forming a gray cloud over her parched lips. “Could we have been…? With you, could we have been…?”

As she says this, something stirs in Fjorm’s heart — a spark, a flash hotter than any Múspell spell she has ever faced.

There _must_ be another way. There _must_ be a way to stop all of this.

Without another thought, Fjorm throws herself into the flames. Blinded by the heat, she searches with her hands. She bumps into something solid, something warm — and she wraps her arms around tight, unyielding to how her skin melts and how her body burns alive. Tiny wisps of hair tickle Fjorm’s cheek, and so she turns her head, letting her kiss find Laegjarn’s lips, pressing all the love she can muster onto them.

Fjorm hears curdled screams ringing in her ears then. She can’t tell if it’s the sound of the fire extinguishing or the sound of her own agony. Both seem equal in suffering.

A moment — that feels like an entire hour — passes. She feels Laegjarn shudder, her head fall backwards. Then everything around them turns black. The flames exhaust into cinders, crumble into soot. It is not hot nor cold. It is simply warm — warm like the winter sun, warm like rested tea, warm like a long embrace, warm like coming home.

Fjorm sits back, lets Laegjarn’s head rest on her lap. Blinded by the dark, she searches for Laegjarn’s hands, and upon finding them she holds onto them tight, praying for a miracle like she prays for the first spring blossom.

When Laegjarn’s eyes open, they burn like charcoal.

Her eyes widen — still razed by the Rite of Flames — and she pulls her hand from Fjorm, raising it to her face, as if to try to see again.

“How…?” she murmurs, staring blankly at her hand. “Am I… still alive?”

“Yes,” Fjorm replies, taking Laegjarn’s hand again and holding it against her chest. “You’re still here.”

“What did you do?”

Fjorm smiles, shaking her head. “Nothing,” she says, the lilt of a laugh in her tone. Then she adds, “I just kissed you.”

“You _kissed_ me?” Laegjarn asks, with a few confused blinks. “You kissed _me_?”

Her befuddlement makes Fjorm burst out laughing. She cradles Laegjarn’s face between her palms, combing a strand of hair off her cheek.

“Yes,” Fjorm affirms. “And I will kiss you again.”

.

.

Years pass, and the boundaries between their kingdoms melt away — growing into lush lands of blue and green.

They lay in the grass together, fingers intertwined, as they always do after a light breakfast. They look toward the sky, simply enjoying this world they’ve shaped together, two queens hand in hand.

The peace is broken when Fjorm coughs. She shivers, smiling to bade it away, but not before long, she is overtaken by another coughing spell. She curls up into a ball, turning away from Laegjarn.

Startled by the sound, Laegjarn sits up, her head turned to Fjorm’s direction. “Are you okay?”

Fjorm swallows, looking briefly down at the red sputter in the palm of her hand. She wipes it on the ground beside her, then rolls back around to the other side to face Laegjarn.

“Yes,” she replies.

It’s a lie — she has been growing older, growing weaker. She can see it in her own reflection in the mirror every morning — the shimmer of her hair has begun to fade, and the pink flush in her cheeks has been replaced with pallor.

Time does not change her voice though, and in this same sunny voice, she repeats this same reassurance, this same lie.

Laegjarn presses her lips together. “You’re lying,” she says.

This is not the first time Laegjarn has accused her of such.

Fjorm simply smiles, reaching forward and taking her hand. “I promise I’m alright,” she replies, weaving their fingers together. “Especially with you here.”

At Fjorm’s touch, Laegjarn shudders. “Your hands are cold, Fjorm,” she says.

“Aren’t they always?”

“I can tell, you know,” Laegjarn says. “Maybe I can’t see, but I can tell.”

This is not the first time Laegjarn has reminded her of such.

But this _is_ the first time Fjorm says nothing in return. And the silence between them is loud and consuming.

“You know what I mean, Fjorm,” she says. “Tell me the truth now.”

Fjorm bites her lip. She should, shouldn’t she? There isn’t another time to do this, is there? There isn’t a way around it this time, is there? She can’t possibly keep dodging questions, saying untrue things, pretending there’s always a tomorrow—

“The Rite of Frost,” she sighs, in a breath she’s been holding for a millenia. “I had to conduct the Rite of Frost. To defeat him.”

She doesn’t need to explain much more. Laegjarn knows well the meaning of self-sacrifice in the name of centuries-old conflict.

Laegjarn frowns. “All this time…” she murmurs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fjorm hesitates. Is there really an excuse? And how did she ever think that this wasn’t ever going to come up, even with all her sickly and sleepless nights? With all the many activities, meetings, recreation she’s had to reschedule because of her worsening condition?

“I wasn’t sure we were going to defeat him,” she explains. “And when we did, I found you… and I put everything behind. I forgot how we got here. Then when I remembered, I didn’t have the heart to tell you. You were so happy. And I was so happy. Days passed, then months, then years.” She stops here, holding Laegjarn’s hand tighter. “I still don’t have the heart to tell you.”

Laegjarn swallows, then gives her hand a squeeze. “We’ve only been together for so long,” she says. “I don’t want you to leave me yet.”

“I don’t want to leave either,” Fjorm replies, in a small voice.

Laegjarn falls back to quiet, rubbing circles over the back of Fjorm’s hand with her thumb.

“Let me try,” she suddenly says. “The same way you did for me.”

Fjorm’s eyes widen. It couldn’t possibly be that simple. Could it?

But Laegjarn gives her no time to question her actions. She reaches forward for Fjorm’s face, leaning in.

She kisses her then, with all her love and adoration — just as she kisses her every morning when she wakes, every night before she sleeps — but this time, Fjorm feels a shell around her heart crack. Her chest feels shattered, but resolved, like her heart can beat again now that its prison is broken. The snow and ice within her thaws and everything becomes warm — warm like summer ocean, warm like steamed milk, warm like under the sheets, warm like unconditional love.

Fjorm opens her eyes, and she sees Laegjarn’s smile before her.

“You kissed me,” Fjorm remarks.

“Yes,” Laegjarn replies, pulling her in close once more. “And I will kiss you again.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/napsbeforesleep)


End file.
